Wake Up to a New Day
by Taito-sterone
Summary: Iori's been holding a very personal secret, scared to admit even to himself he's different. When people start finding out, can he hang on? Warnings: Yaoi, Yamori (Yamato/Iori), major angst. Written for Hopeful Writer's Yamori contest.


**Wake Up to a New Day**

_**Ruminations:** This story was written for a Yamori contest--Yamato and Iori. Interesting idea for a couple. On the surface they seem similar, but underneath they're really quite different. Aside from the obvious age difference (Iori is five years younger than Yamato), I see a gay Yamato as someone comfortable with his sexuality, although he may not be open about it, while a gay Iori would be completely at odds with himself. So the challenge in writing a fic based on making them into a couple is just getting them together in the first place!_

_**Author's notes:** This was one rushed piece of work: I wrote it in less than two days while trying to get it into the contest. (It won, by the way--it was the only entry!) The pacing is about as even as a mountain range, and I probably need three times as many words to cover the ground I did to do justice to the story. I've since had time to go over and give it some much needed editing, and this is the result._

_**Ages:** Iori is 17, Takeru 19, Yamato 22._

_**Disclaimer:** Nothing fancy ... I don't own Digimon or any of its characters. The Digimon copyright is variously attributed to Toei Entertainment, Bandai, and Fox.   
Although I do wish I had Yamato._

~ * ~ * ~

Iori stood at the door of his mother's bedroom, looking in. Again tonight he had heard his mother weeping. The first time he had merely wondered; the second night, he could not get to sleep until after she stopped; tonight he was deeply concerened and determined to find the reason. 

He made so sound; did nothing to attract attention to himself. He just stood there quietly in the doorway, watching his mother sitting up in her bed, her face a picture of concern and worry. The sound of her weeping was less tonight than it had been, but every few minutes she would break down again, reach for a white tissue from an ornamented blue and white box on her bedside table, and wipe her eyes. Finally she acknowledged her son standing there. 

"It's late, my son," she said. "Go back to bed." 

Iori politely declined her request. With an effort his mother composed herself, and softly asked her son again to return to his own bed. 

But Iori would not be moved. He had to know what was troubling his mother so, and said he would not be able to sleep until he did. In her turn, his mother went silent for a full minute, her eyes darting back and forth between her son and the room, deciding whether to ask him again to leave or invite him in. Iori could see the decision was a difficult one, but had no intention of leaving and giving her an easy out. 

Finally she asked him to come into the bedroom. And when he did, she asked something wholly unexpected: for him to sit down on the bed beside her. Then she put her arms around him and held him close, and told him how much she loved him. 

Strange how an expression of love from one's one mother, heartfelt and given in a hug, can be so disconcerting. For in that moment, Iori knew that his mother had somehow discovered the secret he had been holding so close to himself. Yet he hoped against all hope he had read his mother's hug wrong. 

Gently he pulled away, just enough to let his mother know she should let go of him. She had not done this since he was twelve. Then, it was warm and appreciated; at seventeen, it was awkward. 

"Is it about Grandfather?" he asked, knowing for certain it was not. 

He got the answer he expected. Grandfather was in excellent health: he would live to one hundred as easily as he would make it thought this night. And next she told him she was all right, too, and Iori's heart sank. 

His mother's words came uneasily now, as she related how Mrs. Hirosaka had called her a few days ago to ask about the kendo academy Iori had attended at fourteen. Her own son was now that age and had expressed an interest. Mrs. Hida could not recall the academy's name nor the name of its master. But she remembered the white t-shirt Iori had received when he had joined, and printed on it in blue and red were the names she needed, along with a telephone number and a web site address. 

At the mention of the t-shirt Iori's heart sank even lower; his stomach became unsettled. He knew what his mother was going to tell him now, yet he said nothing, only hoping that by some miracle her tale would not take the turn he feared so much it would. But there was no miracle: not that fateful day three days ago, and not now. 

His mother had gone into his neat, tidy bedroom with the simple idea of finding the t-shirt in Iori's dresser and reading from it the name of the kendo academy, so she could call Mrs. Hirosaka back with the information. Like his bedroom, Iori's dresser was tidy and organized. The shirt was a little small for him now, although he could still put it on, for the growth spurt he had expected to hit him about that age had never really happened. Since it was not worn much any more. the shirt had ended up the fourth drawer down. 

To his misfortune, Iori had chosen that drawer as well to hide his small collection of pornographic magazines. He had figured putting them under his mattress was too obvious. After all, he knew his mother lifted the mattress once a week to change the bedding. He had trusted, correctly as it turned out, that she would not go on a fishing expedition through his dresser. 

But his mother had seen the magazines, two in full color and one in black and white, and now knew what he had so desperately wanted to keep from her. What he had denied even to himself, despite owning three photo magazines about it. His mother now did not mention what she had seen in them, or what she had felt looking through them, or even if she had looked through them at all. 

But she had found out, entirely by accident, that her son was gay. The magazine covers left no doubt about that. 

She still loved him. She knew that. Disappointed, perhaps, and upset. But not upset at her son's potential choice of partners, nor the possibility she might not see any grandchildren. Nor did she recriminate herself with thoughts she may have raised him to that. Rather, she was deeply concerned for Iori, for the conflict she knew he must be going through, and scared for what the future might hold for him. 

She realized if it was a shock for her to discover her son was gay, it must have been devastating for him. 

Iori had always been like that, the quiet little boy who had turned into a polite young man, one very serious and focused. And very conservative. Not one who would be easily thought of as gay, and the last one in the world to tell anyone if he was. 

So now as she tried to tell him that she loved him still, and might even understand some nature of the struggle he must be having, Iori heard her and responded poilitely, but inwardly felt as though some beast had punched him in the stomach. To now he had managed to hold together the fragile veneer of a straight teenager to everyone. And now it was shattered, broken into pieces and scattered on a mocking wind, with nothing else to grab on to. 

At length Iori's mother said she would keep the secret, too. She had mentioned it to no one, not even Grandfather, who had persistently asked what was upsetting her. Yet she urged him not to bury the truth, not to waste time in unfruitful years of bitter denial. He should accept his sexuality for what it was, and find happiness where he could. 

She also knew her headstrong son would not hear a word of it. He had kept up the facade for too long now; he would not take it down willingly. That perhaps more than anything else was what had caused the tears these last three nights. Not the realization Iori was homosexual, but knowing he might never accept it himself, and be unhappy the rest of his days. 

Finally she bade him good-night. Iori returned to his bedroom, closed the door, and threw himself down on his bed. 

He did his very best not to come out for the next month. 

~ * ~ * ~

Grandfather found out the next day. It would have been impossible to hide it from him any longer, not with both Iori's mother and now Iori himself out of sorts. Still, getting the story out was not easy. It took nearly a full day of patient conversation with Iori's mother to glean the details, and in the end Grandfather had to ask the question directly, for she would not say the words. 

He waited three days for his grandson to come out of the bedroom before deciding he should go in and talk to him himself. There he tried to deliver the same message Iori's mother had: his sexuality was not of his choosing, any more than his black hair and short stature. Why should he hide himself away? 

As he had done with his mother, Iori listened politely, and pretty much ignored everything his grandfather said. Out of respect Iori would not speak out and challenge his grandfather, so he resorted to playing an elaborate game of non-words, only occasionally making a sound to let his grandfather know he was still paying him attention. More of pragmatist than even Iori's mother, Grandfather played along, carefully spelling out why he thought Iori was being a fool--alhough he did not say it in as many words--while letting his grandson say as little as he possibly could. 

When he departed the room, he felt he had neither learned nor taught anything new. 

Over the next few weeks Iori's mother watched with growing alarm as her son's world contracted in upon itself. Iori left his darkened bedroom only to go to school. If she let him, he would take his meals in his room, not joining her or Grandfather around the dining room table. When she ordered him to come to the table, which she was loathe to do out of respect for his independence, he would stare at his plate the whole time and say nothing until he asked to be excused. Then he would return immediately to his room and close the door. 

While in there he would be as silent as a mouse. Occasionally his mother would hear music quietly being played on his CD player, and every once in a while there came the clattter of keys upon the keyboard as he used his computer for homework. Neither the radio nor the TV were ever turned on. For the first couple of weeks there were telephone calls from friends: Takeru, Tanezaki, Miyako, Ken, and even one from Hikari, but even those slowed to a trickle as Iori made it plain he was not in the mood for arcades, movies, or even conversation. 

In the fourth week, Takeru and Ken called and talked to both Iori's mother and grandfather directly, desperately concerned over what was happening to their friend. Neither Iori's mother nor grandfather said or even implied why Iori had suddenly become such a recluse. They asked his friends to give him some time to himself in the hopes he would soon be back to normal. 

Iori's digidestined friends even attempted a little detective work of their own, going to the Digital World and looking up Amadillomon. But to their dismay they found his digimon partner every bit as confused and worried as they. Iori had not been seen in the Digital World for over a month, and poor Armadillomon did not know how to work a Digiport so he could go to his partner's world and find out. 

~ * ~ * ~

There is nothing like a good sex scandal to sell papers, and that's what a weekly tabloid sheet thought they had. The band they were reporting on had fizzled out a couple of years ago and then broken up, but in its time was well known enough that the paper felt it could put the headline on the front page and not confuse too many of their readers. 

And so it was that when Mrs. Hida was waiting in a long checkout line in a brightly lit supermarket three miles from home, she saw a headline reading **TEENAGE WOLVES GAY SECRET**. Normally she would not have given the headline a second thought. But Iori's behavior over the last month had sensitized her to the issue, and she thought she recognized the name of the band. 

Just as the cashier ran her last item through the laser scanner, Mrs. Hida grabbed the tabloid and passed it over the scanner herself. Then she folded it twice and stuffed it into a bag among the large items, wondering if the pangs of guilt she was feeling over buying such trash were anything like what her son might be feeling. 

Most of the paper didn't even make it to the car. Mrs. Hida tore out the one article she was interested in and crammed it into her purse, then disgustedly threw the rest of the tabloid into a trash bin on the supermarket's parking lot. 

Later, in the privacy of her own room, she extracted the torn page from her purse and read it. It talked about Yamato Ishida, singer and guitar player in a now disppeared boy band called The Teenage Wolves. It was pretty much an open secret in the music world, the writer claimed, that Ishida would entertain other boys in his hotel room when they were out on tour. There were quotes from the other band members backing up the story. And the reporter had even managed to track down one person, now a young man, who had been so entertained in one hotel, and had fled when Yamato started making advances on him. 

Mrs Hida frowned and scratched her head. Why was the band's name so familiar? And why did "Yamato Ishida" ring such a bell for her? She could not remember, so she folded the article carefully and hid it in her dresser. 

She immediately saw the irony in that. 

Two days later she had the answer. Subconsciously her mind had been working on the question, and when it had solved the puzzle alerted her to it. Yamato Ishida, of course, was Takeru Takaishi's brother, even though they had different last names. She now remembered more than once when Takeru was over visiting Iori--they had been quite close several years ago--he would talk excitedly about Yamato's band, the tours, the attention, and all the money he was sure Yamato was making. 

A plan began forming in Mrs. Hida's mind. If it were true Yamato was gay, the connection he had to Iori might be enough to draw her son out of his shell. Or at the very least out his bedroom. She went on the web and started looking for references to Yamato and The Teenage Wolves. When she had read enough to convince her the tabloid had the story right, she gave Takeru a call. 

It was a delicate and protracted conversation. At first Takeru would not talk about his brother. He too knew about the rumors, long before the tabloid had screamed them across its front page, but he had no desire to confirm them even to the mother of someone who was once his best friend. On her part, Mrs. Hida remembered her promise to Iori she would not tell anyone about his sexuality, especially to someone who had once been _his_ best friend. With diplomacy, tact, and a great many words, she finally convinced Takeru, without telling him why she wanted it, to give her an email address she could reach Yamato at. 

The very next thing she did was break her promise to Iori about not telling anyone. 

As it turned out, all her tact and diplomacy were for nothing. By the time Takeru gave Iori's mother the email address, he had a pretty clear idea of why she had asked him for it. His suspicions were confirmed two days later when Yamato forwarded to him the full message he had received from Iori's mother. There she described how she had discovered her son was gay, how she was all right with that while Iori was not, and was asking him to help a friend. She was clear why she had approached him: the tabloid story, the telling lack of a denial from anyone, and Takeru's carefully worded responses to her carefully worded questions. They had convinced her, as she had put it, that Yamato might be able to bring some perspective on the issue to her son. 

~ * ~ * ~

Takeru and Yamato arrived at Iori's apartment unexpected and unannounced, their faces telling the concern they had for their friend. Their demeanor said they had discussed it a great deal between themselves before coming over. Mrs. Hida warned them her son was greatly changed from the days those many years ago when Takeru and Iori had shared that close and unexpected bond. He might be open to talking to them, or he might not. 

For his part, Takeru was hoping that bond would prevent Iori from angrily ordering them out before they had a chance to start talking. 

Mrs. Hida gave ger son a choice: he could see his friends in his own room, or out in the living room. She did not give him the option of sending them home without even talking to him. Iori opened his bedroom door a crack, looked out to confirm it was Takeru and Yamato standing in the living room, then said they could come in. He closed the door behind them. 

Iori's room was very dark. In the first week of his seclusion he had papered over the window to stop the sunlight from streaming in. Now the only light came from a tiny book-reading lamp and the glow of the power light on his computer. The computer's monitor was turned off. 

The first thing Takeru and Yamato did was let Patamon, Gabumon, and Upamon out of the bags and packs there were carrying them in. Iori's blank expression thawed for just a moment when Upamon climbed into his lap. The little digimon looked up at his partner and asked why he had disappeared for so long. Iori told him only that he had missed him. 

The conversation among the three young men started amicably. After long weeks of self-imposed exile, Iori was actually glad to have someone over for a visit. He did not know of the tabloid story. The Teenage Wolves were so passé at his school that no one had bothered to comment on it. So it wasn't until his friends started asking why he had so suddenly decided to disappear that he began to get suspiscious. The gnawing fear in his stomach started growing again, and his answers to their questions quickly became evasive. 

Takeru picked up on it right away. While afraid of an angry response, he came out and told Iori they were there on his mother's request. 

Just what, Iori wanted to know, had his mother told them? 

Takeru paused, then said simply, "Pretty much everything." 

Finally Yamato came clean about the real reason for the visit: he knew very well what Iori was going through, for he had been through it himself. 

Even two weeks before Iori would have told them to leave right there. But the days of seclusion, thinking, and searching the Internet had had an effect on him. This time, hearing two friends say they were aware of his sexuality did not precipitate the same feelings of shame and despair they had a month and a half before. 

Anger flared briefly--why had his mother broken her promise? But it subsided as quickly as it came. As upset as he might have been that his mother had told someone else when she had promised she would not, he realised she was doing it out of compassion. As his mother she was entitled to do so. And out of respect for her he should be open to it. 

And he was lonely. After all, he had spent six weeks by himself in a darkened room. 

Iori decided he should hear them out. Not that he was really prepared to agree with whatever conclusions they might present him with. He let them stay, but kept up his guard. 

When Yamato started talking about his own journey through his private life, Takeru quietly left the room. He preferred not knowing the details. Besides, he and Mrs. Hida had something in common. Both had found out someone very close to them was gay, and Takeru wanted to talk about how it had affected him. 

Back in the dark bedroom, the conversation went longer and deeper than anyone had expected. They kept their voices low, even though the door was closed. Yamato did not prod Iori for information, but just told him how he gradually realized he was attracted to males instead of females. Being in the band, away from home and the prying eyes of his peers, he took the opportunity to explore his feelings. And his desires. As much as he did not wish to shock Iori with his escapades, he told him that by the time he was sixteen he was having sex with other guys on a regular basis. 

Yamato's straightforward manner seemed to put Iori at ease, after a fashion. He opened up enough to ask Yamato why he had been so eager to embrace his sexuality once he had figured it out. Was he not afraid he would bring shame upon his father, mother, and brother for carrying on so openly, even if he was far from home? 

Yamato replied that he figured so long as he chose his partners carefully and stayed away from the pervasive booze and drugs, he would be acting honorably. Yes, there had been a awful scene when his father found out what he had been doing on the road. But his father had been more upset at his promiscuity than the gender of his partners. 

Even so, things were still only lukewarm between them. Yamato related how his father continued to express the wish Yamato would find himself a girl to live with, and was so happy about Takeru's steady relationship with Hikari. 

Only now did Yamato turn the conversation back to Iori. He asked the teen how he could act the way he was, closing himself off from his mother and grandfather, who were so much more open about these things than his own parents were. Was he not being disrespectful to them? 

Iori could only reply that he probably was. 

Gently but firmly Yamato told Iori he should return to life with his family immediately. The issue of his sexual orientation he could take his time working out, although he would be better off doing it sooner rather than later. 

Only later did Iori figure out he had reached the same conclusion on his own, but his fierce pride had prevented him from acting on it. Hearing it from Yamato made him realize he had run out of reasons for hiding. He made up his mind then and there to follow at least part of the advice Yamato had given him. 

Getting off his bed, he went to the bedroom door and opened it. He motioned for his friend to come out, then left the room himself and went into the living room, leaving the door open behind him. There was a few more minutes of polite conversation with his mother and Takeru, then the two brothers left. 

When they were gone, Iori located two back issues of a kendo magazine he had been neglecting and sat down on the living room floor to read them. He joined his mother and grandfather that evening for dinner, and although he said very little, he looked at them when they spoke. 

~ * ~ * ~

Iori graduated from high school two weeks later, participating in the ceremonies but skipping the grad bash. Two weeks after that he marked his eighteenth birthday with a small celebration. All his digidestined friends came together and treated him and his mother and grandfather to dinner at a fancy restaurant. After taking Mrs. Hida and Iori's grandfather home, they took him out to see a popular movie, and then to a bar. Of the three things, Iori enjoyed the dinner the most: he still was not really in the mood for movies, and the bar was simply too noisy. 

When someone asked Iori, in a roundabout way, the reason for his strange behavior close to the end of the school year, Takeru came to his rescue with a convincing explanation of how he had reacted badly to stress from schoolwork and kendo. He gave no sign he or Yamato had told anyone the secret. That was Iori's to keep or give away as he saw fit. 

Only a few days after the birthday party, Iori called Yamato and asked if they could meet again. 

He had intended to talk about the one thing he knew they had in common, but somehow the conversation never got around to it. They discussed politics, university, astronomy, music ... so many things they did not realize they had a common interest in. Half the evening Yamato spent explaining why it was he had to work at a warehouse to earn money, when everyone assumed he would be a wealthy young man from the success of the Teenage Wolves. The truth was he had basically made next to nothing in the years he had put into the band, and had managed to bank absolutely none of it. Most of the money that had come in had gone to the record label to cover the costs of the albums, the promotions, and the tours. 

Their meetings became more frequent as the summer progressed. Quickly they got into the habit of seeing each other at a modest restaurant for dinner on Friday, then spending the evening at Yamato's place watching movies or TV programs taped from earlier in the week, or just talking. Then they started getting together on Tuesday afternoons as well, although on those days Yamato was careful to see he had Iori back home in time for dinner. 

Iori's mother watched the blossoming relationship with a mixture of joy and concern. She was so happy to see Iori finally smiling again, talking during meals, and getting back into kendo training with his grandfather. He even removed the paper covering his bedroom windows and let the sun shine in again. But his mother knew at some point Iori and Yamato might not be able to deny their feelings for each other, and she wondered if her son would be able to handle it. 

~ * ~ * ~

It was toward the end of August that one of Yamato's and Iori's Friday night chats finally came back to what had brought them together in the first place. Iori talked, vaguely but comfortably, about what had been happening to him over the summer. He said was interested in hearing about Yamato's experiences with forming relationships with another man. 

He got a real surprise. Yamato said that as far as he was concerned, this was his first real relationship with another guy. 

Once over his surprise at hearing that, Iori amazed himself at how easily he accepted Yamato's comment. And not only the part about him being in a gay relationship--Iori's attitude towards that had changed a while ago. There was the other part, the one where Yamato had just told him that as far as he was concerned he was in a relationship with none other than Iori himself. 

Iori accepted that, too. 

And when he did, he let go his remaining prejudices and also accepted the fact of his own orientation. No more denials, no more thinking he would straighten himself out somehow, and no more guilt trips over his fantasies and magazines and the collection of pictures carefully hidden away on his computer. He wasn't yet sure if what he and Yamato had between them was love, and he was really uncertain how he would handle sex, but he knew he would learn that over time, too. 

And yet, wondered Iori, what about all the other men Yamato had met over the years. Did they not count as relationships? 

Not really, said Yamato. In the time with the band, his relationship with his fellow band members was for the music and the tours, and his affairs on the side were, to put it bluntly, mostly for the sex. It was tough getting into a serious relationship when he was on the road or in the studio so much. Since everyone else in the band was straight, they just did not get that close with him. 

Two years ago the band had broken up when the record label had not even bothered approaching them for another contract, and they had found it impossible to get club dates on their own. So he had taken a job as a shipper/receiver at a warehouse, and now was struggling to make ends meet paying the rent on his apartment, and making payments on a car lease he had signed just before the band's demise. 

In that time he had simply not bothered looking for a relationship. Until this one had so unexpectedly come along. And that was exactly how he saw it. With money as tight as ever, it was tough sometimes even finding enough cash for their Friday evening dinner dates, but they were too important to him now to give up. 

They were important to Iori, too. In only six months he had gone from being terrified of being gay to being in a relationship. Even if only now he actually realized it was a relationship he had fallen into. 

Amazing what a lot of love from the right people can do. 

When they done talking this through, Yamato turned on his TV and VCR and put in the tape of programs he had recorded over the past week. This was part of their Friday routine, watching the shows together, discussing them and making jokes. Also part of the routine was the large soft drink Yamato would open, which they would spend the next two hours drinking though while watching the tape. 

When Yamato came into the living room from the kitchen with the soft drink and glasses, and sat down in his favourite chair, Iori abandoned his chair to sit on the floor in front of Yamato, carefully moving his friend's legs apart so he could sit between them. It was the first time either of them had deliberately initiated any sort of physical contact. 

A few minutes later Yamato put his hands on Iori's shoulders and rubbed them softly. Iori turned around, looked Yamato in the eyes, and smiled. Yamato smiled back. Iori returned turned his attention to the TV program, at the same time putting his arms around his friend's legs and holding on to them. 

They watched the rest of the program like this. When the second one started, Yamato left his chair and sat down on the floor with Iori. Their arms went around each other without a second thought, and stayed there for the rest of the tape. 

They weren't really sure what to do next. Usually after the programs were over, they would chat about them or something else. But tonight both seemed at a loss for words, so they held each other in a warm but awkward silence for a while, until Iori suggested he should be getting home. 

Unable to think of a better idea, Yamato agreed. At the door, he put one hand on the doorknob, then turned to look at Iori. Iori looked back at him, raising his eyebrows to ask why he had stopped so suddenly. Yamato just gazed into Iori's green eyes, and slowly moved forward and down a little. Their lips met softly in a kiss. 

Iori didn't back away. He tried to kiss back as best he knew how, but he knew he was being clumsy. He had never done this before. He figured, though, Yamato would be patient and teach him how to kiss properly. 

Riding home a few minutes later in Yamato's car, he thought about a few other things. Mostly about next Friday. Yamato would probably want to do more than just kiss and hold him. He himself would be nervous and clumsy at that other stuff, too. And he was sure the week's videotape would go unwatched. 


End file.
